


Under My Skin

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder has a surprising encounter with Krycek in a bar.





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Under My Skin by Mick C.

15 Nov 1997  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the characters, and whatever else they want to make a fuss about, belongs to 1013, Chris Carter and all the others hooked up to the 'hit series' money train. I, personally, and not making a dime off these guys. The story below is purely for my own enjoyment and that of my friends and random, perhaps shocked, strangers who happen to stumble upon it.  
This story has not been Beta'd. Any mistakes or incomprehensibilities are my own.  
WARNINGS: You have entered and NC-17/Adult zone. This is "slash", which means different things to different people. To me it means same sex interaction of a non-platonic nature. If that sort of thing makes you squeamish, you've somehow wandered into the wrong place as this would only appear in slash-friendly locations. If you are below the legal age for adult status in your home place, please find somewhere else to hang out--but if you're interested, come back when you're legal.  
ARCHIVE INFO: When archived all headers must remain intact.  
Gossamer: No  
MKRA: Yes  
XSlash: Yes  
Other X-Slash Sites: Yes  
Misc. Sites: Ask me. I'll probably say yes.  
E-mail: 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
This little story is dedicated to Claire and Buni, for getting stood up on IRC endless times when my Muse sneaks up and clamps me firmly by the throat.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Under My Skin*  
by Mick C.  
October, 1997

This case was just a little sidebar, an excuse to get away for a while really. He'd leapt at it. Scully was still not herself, though she refused to admit it, and as it was only yet another interview with a possible abductee, and she was feeling angry and sensitive about that whole area of investigation, she allowed herself to pass on accompanying him. He didn't want to feel glad to be alone. After the hell he'd been through when she was missing, he felt as if he was tempting fate to wish anything other than that she was beside him at all times.

But it did feel good just to have a bit of space to think, to work without having to pause to confer with another mind about his ideas and hunches. It was a reminder of the stark freedom he'd come to enjoy during his "solitary years" as he called the time before Scully's assignment.

"I'm an ungrateful bastard," he spoke aloud to the night air, smiling slightly as he stared at the black lettering on the pink clapboard that proclaimed it 'Ladies Night -- Starting at 10:00 p.m.!' The club, for most of the week, served up an assortment of exotic dancers for older businessmen and Yuppies. It offered a way for them to "relax and unwind" after a hard day of moving the capitalist machinery forward for the good of all mankind. It would seem late Fridays was the day for womankind. Mulder studied the names like, 'Rod Rocket,' 'Randy Rider' and 'Officer Steele' and further down, in stylized letters next to the hip-slung silhouette of punk with a jacket dangling from his fingertips and trailing the ground, "Black Leather Baby." Mulder snorted in amusement and, shaking his head, pushed inside.

He was surprised at the number of men lurking around in the background, but as he thought about it, it wasn't so surprising after all. Women out to have a good time, drinking, relaxed, and getting more excited by the minute by the thrusting and gyrating of nearly naked, incredibly handsome men, was a target rich environment for horny men of any age. Mulder harkened back to the distant past, to the days when he actually went out and tried to "score" and admitted that if such a place had existed in his college years, he might have been prowling the outskirts of the shifting throng of women too.

But he wasn't here to prowl. He was here to interview a woman who'd claimed to have been abducted by "things". She'd refused to meet him anywhere other than here, when the place was packed. She'd seen enough movies, she'd informed him, to be afraid of being taken away by nondescript men in black. Mulder looked down at the charcoal gray suit he wore, and smiled a little, knowing it would look black in the warm light of the club. He'd worn it on purpose. It was perverse of him, yes, and counterproductive to his aims, but he found that he was going through the motions and performing a little self-sabotage on a number of things lately. This, what would be for him, "routine" investigation was not holding his interest like it would have in the past. He had much more sinister, insidious things to concentrate on these days. Real men in black who came and took everything from you when you least expected it. Men who lied and cheated and betrayed and smiled at you with false innocence in bright green eyes...

He cut that train of thought off abruptly, and willed his rising anger to recede. He looked around and found a woman sitting at the back edge of the bar, making notes in a ledger. "Excuse me, Miss. I'm looking for Veronica Matuccio."

"Veronique?" The woman corrected him firmly, giving the dancer her professional name. Giving him a look that said personal business should be conducted elsewhere. "She'll be a while. She's got a private dance right now." The woman had put down her pen was studying him more carefully, alarm growing in her eyes. "You're some kind of cop aren't you? She in trouble? We don't want trouble here. We're legitimate, both our male and female dancers. When we say dance, that's what we mean. Listen, if you're going to bust her for something, can you do it quietly? Take her out the back way or something? If our regulars get the idea that cops are rousting people in here, they'll be gone like the wind. Too many of the upscale types that come here can't afford to be seen on the news in raid on a exotic dance club." The woman ran out of steam finally, and Mulder used the opportunity to get a word in. 

"I'm not here to arrest Ms. Matuccio. As a matter of fact, she called me and insisted I come here." Mulder displayed his ID for the woman's inspection.

The woman looked up from studying his identification, understanding dawning. "You're here about the freaky light show out back, where Vee wound up missing for a few days after! Fuck! She did call you. She said she would." The woman looked impressed with "Vee's" nerve. "I though she was trippin' on something, you know. But man, she never backed down once. Said she was gonna call someone about it, only she was scared the Feds would swoop down on her and cart her off to be studied or something like that." The woman touched his arm, pressing it lightly. "You're not going to do that are you? Take her away with you? She's really a good kid, and what I said before about busting her, I was just nervous. She's never done anything wrong that I know of. She's the victim here, you know? You're not going to do anything bad to her...?"

"No, Ms...?" Mulder jumped in there again as the woman paused uncertainly.

"Jefferson, Jenny. I'm the assistant manager here. And it's Miss." *Miss* Jenny Jefferson, Assistant Manager of Club Exotica, gave him a card and a smile that let him know she was willing to get to know him on a more personal level.

"No, Miss Jefferson, I'm not going to take Ms. Matuccio anywhere or do anything to harm her in any way. That's why I agreed to meet her here. Will she be long?"

"'Bout another ten or fifteen minutes. I'll leave word in back that you're here." The woman slid off her stool, causing her already tight skirt to ride up even further, exposing an alarming expanse of thigh. Mulder had a feeling it was a move she'd perfected. "I'll be back shortly, Agent Mulder. In the meantime, have whatever you like, it's on the house." With slightly predatory look and a practiced sway, she made her way to the back of the club and disappeared through a darkened doorway.

Mulder relaxed his flight muscles and exhaled in relief, then looked around for a place to wait. Since none were readily available, he chose the spot vacated by Miss. Jefferson. It only occurred to him after she'd gone that he should have asked her what she thought of the "freaky light show" and if any of the other girls had seen it as well. He sighed heavily at this further evidence of his distraction lately, and decided that if this was how his brain was functioning these days he'd better make like a rookie and note down the questions he needed to ask. He was reaching into his jacket pocket for his notepad and pen, when the announcer's voice heralded the appearance of the next act.

"Here he is ladies, you know him, you want him..."

Mulder smiled at the dramatic pause and glanced at the ladies next to him, who tittered with excitement.

"Black...Leather...Baby." The announcer's words were hushed, almost reverently placed into the quieting room as the music began to thrum.

Something made him turn. He never was sure after, what it was exactly. Maybe it was some internal sense. Maybe it was a malevolent force, with the life and times of Fox Mulder its sole purpose for being, or maybe it was the awe in the voice of woman sitting at the bar next to him whispering, "He's on." Whatever it was, he turned.

And saw Alex Krycek, dancing.

He tried to swallow in a mouth gone suddenly dry as he came reflexively to his feet. His body flexed through a series of ticks; a quick bunching of his hands into fists, an aborted reach for his gun, and the strange tightening of his stomach muscles that happened whenever that man was near. His body settled again into stillness, and he simply stood and watched like the rest. A woman's husky voice half-sang, half-spoke the lyric into the still room.

"I've got you...under my skin...pure pain you're giving me..."

Krycek gyrated provocatively to the music, dressed all in black. Black leather jacket, black satin jeans and a black T-shirt with green lettering just showing through the opening of his jacket. Even his sable brown hair, longer now than when he'd last seen him, gleamed black in the stage lights. Mulder's body again moved on its own, stepping toward the stage, then checking and stepping back farther into the shadows, away from the light and the man who danced in it. The women at the bar were talking softly, murmuring in quiet appreciation. Mulder looked around and noted the room was strangely quiet, the mood completely changed from the rowdiness the previous dancer had evoked. The music had a pounding, throbbing quality, neither fast nor slow, and Krycek moved to it like there was nothing in the world but him and the song.

"Got you deep, in the heart of me. Down so deep, you're really a part of me..."

The jacket came off first, slid back from his shoulders, then held as his hips thrust in time to the music, his head rolling back. The jacket fell from his arms and he held them back away from his body, poised in a backwards arch like a dancer, before he straightened, hands sliding down between his legs, rubbing the gleaming fabric covering his groin. The strange roaring that had begun in Mulder's ears stilled suddenly as his eyes locked on the green lettering on the tee-shirt.

'FOX.' His own name was stretched tautly across Krycek's chest, ghostly green strobes back-lighting it with theatrical fanfare. Rage surged through him at the sight and he again stepped forward, only to find his movement matched by the women in the room as they all leaned forward seemingly as one.

"Here it comes." The woman next to him who had been keeping up a soft voiced commentary to her friend spoke again with undisguised glee.

Mulder stopped again as Krycek took a double handful of the front of his pants and pulled, ripping them away to the sound of agonized Velcro. The room around him erupted in feminine howls of joys, shrieks and clapping. Mulder started, the primal noise making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Honey, sit *down*. You're blocking the view!" The whispering woman reached out and pulled him down onto the empty barstool next to her, the woman previously occupying the spot having rushed the stage, waving bills. After hauling him back by the tail of his jacket, she promptly forgot him, leaning over to her friend again, this time shouting to be heard over the noise. "This is the part I like. It's so *hot*," the woman gushed.

Mulder didn't know if hot was quite the word for what he was seeing.

Krycek's hands roved up and down the gleaming smoothness of his thighs, sliding up to cup the tightly packed pouch between his legs. One hand continued to rub as his hips twisted and swayed to the music, while the other slid up across the fabric of the T-shirt he still wore, dragging his palm across the hard planes of his chest, fingers curling into claws as they scraped across his nipples.

"Got you. Got you under my skin..."

Krycek's hand slid back down, then up again, drawing the hem of the shirt up his chest as he moved toward the edge of the stage and the waving bills. The black edge of the shirt made a sharply contrasted against the pale skin, and Mulder found himself swallowing heavily as the fabric was dragged up over the nipples. Then his mouth went suddenly dry as the desert as the light caught the flash of a silver ring threaded through one of them. As if taunting him, Krycek turned, the smooth creamy globes of his ass catching the light, the black line of the thong he wore bisecting them like to halves of an exotic fruit. He bent slowly from the waist, his back and shoulder muscles rippling as he pulled the shirt over his head.

The women stomped and howled as Krycek took off across the stage in a flurry of sensual movement, whipping the twisted shirt around him.

Mulder felt lightheaded. He could feel a faint sheen of sweat covering his body, and a churning in his gut. 'I'm going to be sick,' he thought for a panicked moment. But he took a few deep breaths instead and admitted to himself that what he truly felt was a sick fascination with the creature twisting and turning on the stage. He was a creature. He must be. A demon, an incubus invading his sleep stealing his vitality, sapping his will. Mulder was quite ready at this point to attribute otherworldly qualities to the man who had wreaked so much havoc in his life, and who had caught him up all unexpectedly and twisted his soul... with desire.

Because whatever else he told himself, he couldn't explain away the aching hardness between his legs, attributed solely to the man he couldn't tear his eyes from. Nor, did it seem, was the affliction one-sided. He watched, stupefied, as Alex Krycek made love to a tee-shirt bearing his name, drawing it back and fourth between his legs, his face slack and wanton, his eyes blank as if watching a scene unfolding where only he could see. He drew the black cloth up over his sweating chest and up along the strained tendons of his throat, catching it briefly between his teeth, eyes slipping closed as he tugged at the damp fabric.

Mulder moaned softly, unaware that a sound had escaped him until he felt the women next to him turn to stare. His mouth opened and closed for a moment as he struggled to come up with an explanation.

"Don't sweat it, honey. We know just how you feel." The talkative woman winked at him, and with a matching pair of lascivious grins, they both turned back to the show.

"I don't know what he's thinking up there, but I've seen all of his shows since he started and he gets hard every time! He's got the hots for that tee-shirt," the woman gave a deep throated laugh, her friend joining in. "Whatever gets him going, he makes a ton of money in appreciation of the diamond cutter he ends up sporting!"

Mulder could feel his ears burning, and if he'd had any willpower left, would have bolted from the room as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

"You know, that redheaded waitress, Claire? Well, she swears he's pining for some guy who broke his heart. Won't go out with anyone. Not the guys, not the girls. Just disappears every night after his show."

"Figures. Damn! Are *any* of these guys straight?"

"Oh Jeeeezus!" The woman new to the show breathed as Krycek sank to the floor just at the edge of the stage, legs spread as he rested back on his heels, sinking backwards to rest his head and shoulders against the cool boards, undulating occasionally, a shudder of motion rippling through his body, the black shirt clutched tightly in one fist. He displayed himself like an offering to some cruel God, and the women moved forward, seeming to understand that this was different from the dance. This was pain they were seeing. Their hands were gentle as they soothed and stroked him, tucking money into the edges of the black thong, placing it gently on the palm of the open, slightly curled hand laying limply at his side, touching and touching him until something buried deep in Mulder snarled, 'Stop it! Don't touch him!'

As the music died it was quiet for a moment, then a thunderous roar went up and Krycek straightened smiling softly at the women surrounding him, letting them touch him, still. Krycek's gaze, spent and weary, brushed across the crowd--and locked with his.

All sound fled for half a heartbeat, then rushed in again with a deafening roar.

Krycek scrambled to his feet, the first ungraceful move he'd made since taking the stage, and stumbled toward the back of the stage, the women's cries of "Fox! Fox!" following him like the baying of hounds.

Mulder remained frozen for a second, the sound of his name being shouted by the wildly excited throng momentarily throwing him off balance. He shook his head to clear it, realizing that Krycek had been given the name of the fledgling studio whose logo he wore during his act, and that these women didn't know, couldn't know what the name really meant. He also realized that while he'd been standing here panicking over who knew what about his secret fantasies, Krycek was getting away, and he began to push his way through the women towards the dressing rooms in the back.

"Sorry. No guests past this point." A little redhead stood and barred his way to the dressing rooms.

"It's important, I have to see the man that was just on stage!" Mulder thought for a moment about simply lifting her out of his way.

"I'm sure you do. Everyone *has* to see him just after he dances. But *he* doesn't see anyone. And before you ask, he doesn't do private dances either." She was stubborn, as only redheads could be, and gave him a look that didn't bode well for his masculine bits if he pushed the issue.

"This is official business." Mulder pulled out his ID and flashed it at her. "Special Agent Fox Mulder..."

"Fox? *FOX?*" The woman's startled exclamation cut him off and he could feel himself flush deeply. She stared at him hard for a moment before turning to lead him towards the back rooms. As they turned the corner towards the dancer's dressing rooms, a dark shape emerged and headed for the exit at the far end of the hall.

"Alex, wait!"

Krycek's head came around, his eyes were shadowed in the slanting light. He pushed open the door and ran.

"ALEX!" Mulder shoved the woman aside and ran, bursting through the door seconds after Krycek.

"Alex! Alex wait!"

But he was gone. Gone into the night, as swift and sure as one who is intimately familiar with it. There was no motion or sound to hint at his direction. There was...nothing.

Something moved against his face and he touched his fingers to his cheek. Staring at the wetness, it only faintly surprised him to find that it was tears.

"You stupid fuck." He didn't ask himself if the words were directed at himself or at the man who'd run away from him like he was Death and the Executioner all rolled into one.

That was one truth he was going to pass on knowing.

He turned and went back into the club. Back to question the woman he'd come to see in the first place. Back to the work, because it was what he *did* with his life, wasn't it? As he entered the dimly lit hall, the petite waitress with the red hair, 'Claire' his fucking ever-reliable memory prompted him in a voice-over of the two women who'd watched the show beside him, put a hand on his arm.

"You're the one, aren't you?" She looked up at him, her face sad and knowing.

"Yes." He didn't even bother to deny it.

"You're going to let him get away?"

Mulder gave a ragged laugh, and watched her step back from him. Through sheer force of will he pulled himself together, realizing that something about him had frightened her for a moment. "I'll find him again. Or he'll find me. We'll settle this thing eventually. We can't seem to let this go. Either of us." He had no idea of the sadness and pain reflected in his eyes, or that that was why the waitress stepped closer again, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

"Love's like that." She squeezed his arm, and gave him that sad smile once more before turning away.

Mulder stared at her as she moved off down the all, empty tray tucked under her arm. He shunted her parting words away from him into the corner of himself that held the things he would not face. He rubbed his face tiredly, drew his shoulders back, lifted his head, and set off to find the woman who claimed she had physical proof of her abduction from the alley behind this club.

Because the work was all he had.

Fin

* Under My Skin: Music/Lyrics by Cole Porter, performed by Neneh Cherry for the "Red, Hot and Blue" album to benefit AIDS research.

Want the words? Well here they are:

Under My Skin

I've got you under my skin,  
I've got you deep in the heart of me,  
So deep in my heart, you're really a part of me.  
I've got you under my skin.  
I tried so not to give in,  
I said to myself, "This affair never will go so well."  
But why should I try to resist  
When, Darling, I know so well  
I've got you under my skin.  
I'd sacrifice anything, come what might,  
for the sake of having you near,  
in spite of a warning voice that comes in the night,  
and repeats and repeats in my ear,  
"Don't you know, little fool, you never can win,  
use your mentality, wake up to reality."  
But each time I do, just the thought of you  
makes me stop, before I begin,  
'Cause I've got you under my skin.


End file.
